


Through the Years, We all will be Together

by andromedabennet



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Delinquent Era, F/M, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Holidays, Mistletoe, Post-Episode: s04e13 Praimfaya, The 100 (TV) Season 1, The 100 (TV) Season 4, Two Christmases, oh my god they were ringmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedabennet/pseuds/andromedabennet
Summary: It's not that the delinquents haven't heard of Christmas — it's just that they've never really had a reason to celebrate it before. Barely scraping by on the Ark didn't make anyone particularly merry. Still, Jasper figures it's the perfect way to raise morale at the dropship camp, and if he happens to get Bellamy and Clarke under the mistletoe for a perfect Christmas kiss, then that's just a bonus.And then the whole world ends, and suddenly the last survivors are split between the bunker and the ring. But if they're going to be stuck in space for five years with nothing to do... why not find a reason to celebrate?Or: Bellamy and Clarke celebrate two Christmases with the families they've chosen (and maybe figure things out along the way).[The Dropship + The Ring + Mistletoe Shenanigans]
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 87
Collections: Bellarke-Mas Secret Santa





	Through the Years, We all will be Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [griffxnblake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffxnblake/gifts).



> This fanfic was created as part of the 12 Days of Bellarke-mas, which was our secret santa project this year. Lia provided me a list of different tropes and situations that I could choose from, and I decided to mash both "delinquents with mistletoe" and "the ring with mistletoe" into one ridiculous story.
> 
> As a Christmas gift to everyone including myself, two canonically dead characters were kept alive for this story because we deserve it.

So far, there have been a lot of things to fear about the ground. So many things, actually, that Bellamy worries that if he starts making a list, he might never stop.

(But the voice in his head at night still cycles endlessly through them — wild animals and grounders and the acid fog and whatever the fuck mountain men are and diseases and exposure to the elements and food shortages and the Ark coming down and the Ark staying in the sky and the threat of unavoidable war and Clarke _never shutting the fuck up_ and Octavia running around with a grounder they hardly know and—)

Anyway, the list is long.

The list of exciting things about the ground is shorter, mainly because he hardly has time to stop and appreciate anything going on around him.

(But that list might look something like sunsets and the smell of grass and bonfires and moonshine and Clarke never shutting the fuck up...)

Overall, though, it’s still pretty unbalanced in favor of the negative.

“You should try to cheer up,” Jasper says to him one afternoon while he’s complaining about damage to the wall around camp caused by a recent storm.

“Because there’s so much to look forward to about our lives right now?” He asks in a huff.

“Well when you put it like that,” Jasper says with a laugh. “Come on, we can find things to look forward to. It might make people feel a little less on edge.”

He gives Jasper a frustrated look, not having time to worry about anything besides keeping everyone safe. “Then name yourself head of the party planning committee and figure out how to boost morale without destroying this camp or starting a war.”

“Really?” He asks, excitement clear in his eyes. Bellamy hadn’t meant it seriously — was just trying to get Jasper to shut up, actually, but he looks so taken by the idea that Bellamy just rolls his eyes and nods. 

“Thanks dad! I’ve gotta go tell Monty we need more moonshine!” He shouts, already running the other direction.

“Thanks _what?”_

Of course, there’s no one around now to answer him.

He sulks off, going to find Clarke to complain about the mess he’d probably just stirred up.

When he tells her about the unofficially official party planning team that Jasper thinks he’s in charge of, Clarke actually laughs in his face.

In fairness, he probably deserves that.

***

They’re just finishing up at dinner three days later when Jasper stands to address the hundred, Monty and Raven behind him.

“Everyone!” He shouts, wanting to keep people from rushing off to their tents or slipping away beyond the walls for _private time._ “You are all cordially invited to our Christmas celebrations tomorrow! No gifts required, though you are free to exchange any handmade presents or help with chores between friends at your leisure! Only guards are on duty, and they’ll be on half rotations so everyone can enjoy the fun!”

Nobody cheers like Jasper probably hoped they would, but people do start chattering amongst themselves, seemingly excited by the prospect of Christmas on the earth.

It’s not that the Arkers were completely unfamiliar with the concept, but religion tended to get left by the wayside in space. Though some of the original generation from the various space stations probably were religious, over time the homogenization of the culture and their overwhelming worship of the ground and returning there one day largely took precedence. 

Christmas, like all religious festivals, became something people read about or, if they were lucky, saw in movies. Without seasons on the Ark, there hardly felt like a reason to celebrate. Holidays were mostly about changing weather and new years anyhow. In space, those were antiquated concerns.

“It’s not snowing,” Bellamy says contrarily. He’s glad it isn’t snowing, but he’s also pretty sure that’s a classic Christmas thing.

“So? It’s probably not December either,” Jasper counters, “but we’re on the ground. It’s Christmas when we say it is.”

“So we’re going to drink around a fire? How is that different from Unity Day or any other time you and Monty get bored and start breaking rules?”

“We can do more than _just_ that.” Then, sheepishly, he adds, “But it’ll mainly be drinking around the fire.”

“No one asked me about changing guard rotations.”

“I knew you’d say no, so I went above your head.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw. “Above my head?” He asks, an annoyed outrage clear in his voice. Like _he_ really takes orders from anyone in this camp. Then he realizes who Jasper means. “Excuse me, it sounds like I have to go yell at Clarke.”

As he walks in the direction of the dropship, he hears Jasper shout out “Tell her we said thanks!” quickly followed by what sounds like either Monty or Raven smacking the back of his head.

***

When he finds Clarke, he gives her a scathing look. “Christmas? Really?” 

“Oh, come on. How bad could it be?”

He takes those words for the omen they are.

***

The next day, all things considered, isn’t actually that exciting, at least not to start. Bellamy guards the wall through the morning and into the afternoon, giving others extra time off to give gifts or learn the Christmas songs Macallan is trying too hard to teach people. It’s all a bit slapped together, but at least people seem to be in better spirits than the average day.

It doesn’t snow — _thank fucking god_ — but the mood is still joyful, especially because the hunting party brought back a boar that cooks over the central fire. Every time someone doesn’t feel the Christmas magic or whatever, Jasper just reminds them that every good holiday comes with a feast, and that seems to do the trick.

By the time the sun is setting, Bellamy is done with his rotation and the drinks come out. 

Alcohol is, unfortunately, not the only thing that Jasper introduces to the group.

“So this is mistletoe,” he says, gesturing to the little green sprig in his hand which he shows to the group surrounding him.

“Pretty sure that’s rosemary,” Clarke says from beside him. Bellamy can’t help but laugh at the face Jasper makes at those words.

“Shut up, Clarke — as I was saying, this is mistletoe,” he says again.

“Monty, tell him that isn’t mistletoe.”

Monty gives Clarke a look. “I can neither confirm nor deny whether that’s mistletoe.”

She squints at him. “Yes you can. You’re from Farm — botany is your whole thing.”

“I’ve been sworn to uphold the sacred state of Christmas, so it’s mistletoe until Jasper lets me say otherwise.”

“Yes, exactly,” Jasper says excitedly. “Now, _as I was saying,_ this is mistletoe. Are we all in agreement?”

Clarke says nothing, a small smile on her face at the ridiculousness of Jasper’s antics, and the rest of the group nods.

“For everyone in this group, because this isn’t for children obviously, the rules are simple. Get caught under mistletoe with someone else and you have to kiss. No questions asked. Got it?”

Everyone nods again, though some people look more enthusiastic about the game than others, and Jasper smiles. “Cool, glad we got that sorted.”

The group disperses — some to grab drinks or find others to talk amongst themselves — but Bellamy isn’t really sure _how_ the game works. Jasper has some of the not-mistletoe on him, but Bellamy can’t spot any hanging from inopportune spots, so it remains to be seen how a person is meant to get caught under it in the first place. 

With that issue mostly out of his mind, he circles their small camp, making sure everyone is accounted for and having an okay time of it. Whether they want to celebrate Christmas or not, he wants to be sure that all the kids have had their fill of dinner and don’t need help with anything.

He checks in with Clarke and a few of the guards, making sure that no one has gone off on their own. While he knows that some people try to sneak away in the evenings, he doesn’t like the danger that it presents. When he gets confirmation that everyone is still inside, Clarke pats his shoulder and tells him to go have some fun for once.

Bellamy just rolls his eyes, but dutifully walks over to Monty and the moonshine.

“So how’s Christmas going, Monty?”

“It’s been good! Raven’s gift to me was that she will stop calling herself the smartest person in the room when we’re alone in the dropship together working on boosting the radios. Jasper promised to do my laundry for a week.”

Bellamy side-eyes him at Raven’s gift, but he actually smiles when he hears what Jasper gave him. They don’t have a lot of physical gifts to exchange, but people have found creative ways to show their friends they care.

“What did you gift him in return?”

“He only wanted one thing, but I’m not sure I can give it to him, so I’m still considering my options.”

“What did he ask for?”

Monty rubs the back of his neck. “The next time we call up to the Ark and have Jaha on the other end, he wants me to give him the radio just long enough to make a long farting sound into the receiver. But only with his mouth!” Monty tacks on the ending as though it changes the rest of the request enough to make it acceptable. 

“Um… _That’s_ what he asked for? Did he think of that when he was high or when he was eight?”

“Jasper really hates Jaha.”

“Tell him to get in line. Anyway, good luck getting a request like that past Clarke.”

“I think Jasper was planning to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, so don’t tell her.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. Whatever — Clarke permitted Christmas without asking him, so he doesn’t feel like he needs to go tattling on Jasper right now. More than likely Monty will just give the kid some jobi nuts for Christmas and call it a day.

“Oh, speaking of Clarke,” Monty says suddenly, like he was prompted by someone, “I was supposed to tell you that she’s looking for you.”

“Since when? I was just with her before coming over here to see you, and all she did was make fun of me, so I don’t think there’s anything urgent.”

Monty’s eyes go wide. “Never mind then. It was just something that I’d heard.”

He looks over to where Clarke last was. She’s talking to Finn, but she looks more annoyed than anything else. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jasper standing nearby, staring Monty down with a vaguely displeased look.

He decides not to question it.

“Sure, whatever. If she needs me, she can find me after she’s done yelling at Finn.”

Then he heads off, going to look for Octavia.

***

He gets his first experience with the usage of the mistletoe when he finds Octavia, who has unfortunately decided to hold it above hers and Lincoln’s heads while they make out in a corner.

He turns around immediately, wanting to erase everything about that image from his mind.

Honestly, _fuck_ Christmas.

***

Later, while he’s talking with Harper about the very un-holidayish topic of food rations, Jasper sneaks up behind him and very loudly shouts “Gotcha!”

When Bellamy turns, he sees that Jasper is holding the rosemary above their heads and grinning like he’s just been named Miss Deliquent 2149.

“Now you have to kiss!”

He gives the boy an odd look. “You wanted me to kiss Harper?” He asks, gesturing to the girl who has turned around by now as well.

Jasper’s face falls, and Harper shoots him a look that Bellamy can’t even begin to interpret.

“Uh… sure. Anyways, you have to now, because those are the rules.”

Bellamy turns to Harper, offering her a small shrug. If she doesn’t mind, he can give her a quick peck in the spirit of shutting Jasper up. At her nod, he leans in and presses a dry kiss to her mouth.

“Happy?” He asks, looking at Jasper as if he has the final say on whether the kiss satisfies the mistletoe gods.

But Jasper’s already heading in the other direction, muttering something about _how could I be happy_ under his breath. Considering Christmas was for Jasper’s happiness in the first place, Bellamy can’t help but wonder if it was an especially bad kiss to have to witness.

When he glances back to Harper, she just gives him an exasperated shrug in return. They’ve all adapted as well as one can to Jasper’s eccentricities. At least he never lets things get too boring.

(Although, if he’s honest, Bellamy might enjoy a single boring day on earth. Maybe _that_ could be his Christmas gift.)

He grabs a stray bottle of moonshine, nearly empty from the night’s revels, and moseys over again to Clarke. She’s looking up at the stars, and though Raven and Monroe are talking near her, she seems to be in a world of her own.

“You look like you could use a drink,” he says with a laugh, already filling her empty cup.

“I’m sure I could still use more than one.” She smiles, her eyes still on the sky.

He laughs brightly. “Well this time I’m not going to enable your bad coping mechanisms. Just the one for now. It’s Christmas, after all. You might want to remember this.”

She drags her gaze to him, the smile still on her face. “Christmas isn’t about getting shitfaced and forgetting your problems?”

“Actually that’s exactly what it started as. Midwinter drinking around a fire, a lot like this. First as Saturnalia and Yule, but later on as Christmas, too. Some cultures banned the holiday for being too rowdy,” he says, getting into the topic. He could probably talk about this for ages (because the Purtians really did a number on Christmas), but Clarke’s twinkling laugh kicks his brain back into gear. “Anyways, that’s not the point. I figured you of all people would espouse moderation tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to drink myself to death tonight. I just get the feeling that this might be the last bit of calm we get before things go wrong again.”

He thinks about the Ark, making it’s preparations to bring everyone down on dropships. They will take over again, and though it will provide them greater numbers, weapons, and medical care, it also means the end of Bellamy and Clarke as leaders. The council will never listen to two kids, especially not when one of them shot the Chancellor.

(He’s been pardoned for that, but still.)

And he thinks about the grounders, still looking for any reason to go to war. Things have been getting worse lately, not better, and Bellamy knows that there is violence on the horizon. It’s his job to look after the hundred, and so far, he hasn’t done a bang up job of it.

He hopes there are still kids left alive by the time their parents make it to earth.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “It does feel too good to be true.”

She looks up at him in surprise. “Oh, don’t let me sour your good mood,” she says quickly. “I’m not trying to be a buzzkill. I was just thinking about how nice the peace is, and how much I wish we could stay in this little pocket of time forever.”

He grins again, and while it’s not as genuine, it’s still good. “Worst comes to worst, we take off — you and me. Just like we planned.”

She knocks her shoulder against his teasingly. “Hey, that was _not_ my plan. You suggested it. And we both know you couldn’t leave any more now than you could then. Camp would end up with _Murphy_ in charge.”

He mock-shudders, and she laughs.

“I’ll miss it,” he says quietly, looking around at the people still mulling about the camp. It’s more crowded than it usually is at this hour, but most of the older kids are still enjoying the festivities, even if no one is exactly certain about how they’re meant to be celebrating. 

“Miss what?”

“This. The hundred. The dropship. I know we need the rest of our people to survive, and I know if we stay here, the grounders will destroy us. But I like it here. I feel like it’s all ours; the place we built to be better.”

“Hopefully we can be better with whatever happens next, too.”

“No offense, Princess, but I think a lot of us here have very little faith in the Ark’s system of government.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “The council, my mother included, floated my father for trying to tell the truth about the air supply. I have as little reason to trust them as you do. But when we’re all safely on the ground, their job will be done. They were the leaders in space, waiting for the day our people returned. Why do we need to keep listening to them once that goal’s been achieved?”

He smirks at her. “You planning a coup in all your free time?”

“Just thinking ahead. I’m not sure how we can bring these kids to the Ark and expect them to return to the status quo. We’ve been here too long and seen too much to pretend like it’s nothing.”

This is the thing that he’s always liked about Clarke: no matter how different their upbringings were, they always understand the heart of the problems, and they always find a way to solve them. Together. “Then I guess we figure out how to make them listen to us.”

Before she can respond, something pops up from behind them. Bellamy immediately goes for the gun at his hip, but Jasper just grins at them both with wide, drunken eyes.

“Finally!”

Clarke glances up at where he’s holding the rosemary over her head. “You want to kiss?”

“Yes!” Jasper says excitedly, like he’s been planning this manoeuver all night, which is a bit strange since they’ve been standing here for the last ten minutes without any fuss. It’s not like they’re making him chase them. _“Obviously_ yes.”

“Alright then,” she says warily. “If it means that much to you.”

She leans in to kiss him, and Jasper backs up in alarm. “What? No!”

Clarke gets that cute little wrinkle between her eyebrows that she always has when she’s confused. “What? You just said you wanted to kiss me.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Jasper, you’re literally holding the rosemary over our heads! Wasn’t that the point?”

Jasper looks up at his hand, seemingly confused by it’s placement in the sky, as though it had worked independently of the rest of his body.

“Wait, fuck,” he says, words slow but not slurred. “That’s not right.”

“What’s not right?”

Jasper just shakes his head, looking between Bellamy and Clarke in utter confusion. Bellamy’s sure they’re giving him the same look in return.

Finally, Bellamy steps forward, ready to end whatever weird standoff has started here. “Alright Jasper, I think it’s time you went to bed.”

“But I didn’t get my Christmas wish!” He whines.

“Declare tomorrow Christmas too and try again then,” he says easily, hoping to placate him. Bellamy really hopes that’s not something Jasper will remember him saying in the morning. He’s not sure how many days of Christmas he can handle. “Oh, and you aren’t allowed to touch the radio for the rest of your life, got it?”

Jasper stumbles along with him as he guides the kid back to his tent. Clarke follows behind them, and he’s fairly certain she’s laughing at the spectacle of it all.

“Jeez, you really are a dad.”

Bellamy gives him a gentle shove, being careful not to tip him over completely. He’d be the one picking him up if that happened anyway. “Shut the fuck up, Jasper.”

When they get to his tent, Bellamy tries to delicately push him through the opening, but Clarke’s hand on his arm stops him for a moment.

She moves closer, pressing a soft kiss to Jasper’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Jas. Enjoy the hangover. Also, if you ever touch the radio, I will personally disembowel you.”

Jasper’s eyes go wide at the threat, and he scrambles out of Bellamy’s hold and into the tent. He and Clarke watch as he goes, laughing at his antics.

They stay there for a moment — just long enough to hear Jasper ask Monty how soon is too soon to try the mistletoe trick again — before they walk back to the fire.

It can’t be Christmas every day, even in Jasper’s mind. Tomorrow there’ll be a million problems to deal with and a limited number of solutions. The Ark, the grounders, the elusive mountain men — none of that has gone away.

He smiles over at Clarke, the planes of her faces warmed by the oranges of the firelight.

None of it has gone away, but at least they had this one moment of peace.

**[definitely not a year later]**

Sometimes, when Bellamy looks out the window and sees the destruction, he’s reminded of exactly what could’ve gone wrong.

He’s not certain that what’s actually happened could be considered _going right,_ but he’s sure it’s better than some of the alternatives.

Octavia and hundreds of people now live under the ground, forced into the bunker until the surface is habitable again. It should’ve been her worst nightmare — the girl under the floor trapped again in the darkness — and yet he fully believes in her ability to lead those that she has saved.

Mostly, he thinks about Clarke.

At night, when his eyes are closed and he’s desperate for the respite that sleep provides for a few hours, he sees her running off in her radiation suit to realign the dish.

He doesn’t always have nightmares — some nights there’s a blissful nothingness that he enjoys far too much — but when he does dream, he sees her trapped on the ground, the radiation destroying her body in seconds while they fly away to safety.

“What are you thinking about?” He hears from beside him. He’d thought that he was alone in this part of the ring. In the beginning, most of the group had stood at the windows, watching in horrified fascination as praimfaya destroyed the planet. It was nearly impossible to imagine any kind of recovery in as little as five years. By now, though, three months into their stay in space, most people have found other, more productive ways to spend their time.

“You,” he says honestly.

She laughs, and the sound fills his chest. “Why?”

“I guess I’ve never really forgotten how close we were to losing you.”

She looks up at him, and somehow, even under the ugly fluorescents on the ring, she still looks amazing. Healthy, alive, and _here._ Not on the earth, not burning. Here, with them.

With _him._

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I survived.”

Her words make him smile, and he puts his arm around her shoulder, pulling her in as they look out the window and down to what’s left of the earth. It’ll be home again one day.

“You seem sad today,” she says, looking at their reflections in the glass.

“Sorry. I don’t know why. It could’ve been worse.”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, and his hand tightens slightly around her shoulder. “But it could’ve been better, too.”

“Might be nice not to eat algae all the time,” he admits.

“Might be nice to not be stuck with Murphy and Roan all the time, too.” She groans at her own words, dropping her forehead down to his shoulder. “Speaking of, I think they’re up to something again.”

Last time they’d been up to something, they were trying to make alcohol from fermented algae, which nearly destroyed their food supply.

“So we should go try to stop them then?”

“Unfortunately.” With an elaborate sigh, she pulls away from him, mentally preparing herself to go put two fully grown men in their place.

When they find Roan and Murphy, along with the rest of the group, they’re sitting around the table in the little mess hall with big smiles on their faces.

“What are you up to now?” Bellamy asks, exasperation clear in his tone. He’s glad that both Roan and Murphy survived praimfaya, but he clearly hadn’t prepared himself for the friendship the two would strike up in the boredom of months spent in space. Without the constant threats of war and extinction to keep people on opposite sides, there had been some rather unfortunate bonds forged, at least in Bellamy’s opinion.

“We have good news and bad news,” Murphy says, voice very serious.

“Start with the bad news,” Clarke replies easily, taking a seat so she can start in on a decadent meal of more algae.

Roan chimes in. “Sadly, you will be forced to spend time with us.”

“Listen, we don’t _hate_ spending—”

Murphy cuts Bellamy off before he can continue. “You’ll have to spend time with us because tomorrow is Christmas!”

Where Jasper, in the early days at the dropship site, might’ve said these words with a sort of childlike joy, Murphy says them with a strangely malicious pleasure, as though he enjoys the idea but he also enjoys that it might be slight torture for the rest of the group even more.

It makes Bellamy miss the old Jasper’s optimism. It had been one of the harder things to rationalize losing along the way.

He hopes that Jasper and Octavia are keeping each other centered in the bunker. The alternative is that they’re both aiding each other in an out of control anger-spiral, which wouldn’t be good for anyone trapped with them.

Bellamy likes to imagine that the two of them have managed to figure things out down there.

Clarke pipes up from beside him again, seemingly unperturbed by Murphy’s statement. “No it isn’t.”

“What do you mean _no it isn’t?”_ Murphy asks, irritation heavy in his voice.

“I mean tomorrow isn’t Christmas. For a bunch of reasons, actually. Technically it’s summer, for a start. And also our Christmas celebration at the dropship was, what, seven months ago maybe? Even by our own faulty holiday logic, it’s definitely not time for Christmas again.”

Murphy looks about ready to fight, but Monty just looks at them all placidly and says, “Who cares? Everything sort of sucks these days and we’re all stressed all the time. It might be nice to do Christmas.”

Emori, from her place beside Murphy, nods in agreement. “Roan and I have never done Christmas, so we want something to get excited about.”

“Plus,” Roan says seriously, “by the time winter does come around, we’ll be too busy teaching you about grounder holidays, like _goblataim.”_

 _“Goblataim?”_ Harper asks.

Roan turns to her, a smile on his face. “It’s the best celebration of the year. We give thanks for all our wealth and advantages—”

“Like Thanksgiving!” Monty says.

“—by having a huge public orgy.”

Monty’s eyes go alarmingly wide, and Emori shoves at Roan. _“Goblataim_ isn’t real; he’s just fucking with you.”

“Maybe it’s not real where _you_ come from, _Frikdreina,”_ Roan grumbles. “But _goblataim_ is perfectly normal in Azgeda. How else are we meant to celebrate the winter?”

Murphy slaps the back of Roan’s head for the insult to Emori, and Clarke is quick to intervene.

“Since we all have to be able to look one another in the eye for the next five years, I think we’ll skip winter orgies. _But—”_ she says as Roan starts trying to protest, “—we can have Christmas tomorrow as a compromise.”

Roan folds his arms over his chest, pouting and asking who put her in charge, but everyone else is too distracted by Clarke giving the greenlight to Christmas that they aren’t listening to him.

Murphy, far more invested in the whole thing than Bellamy would’ve ever expected, sends the group to bed early that night, insisting that it’s part of the Christmas Eve tradition. Bellamy’s not entirely sure why, seeing as they aren’t giving each other gifts or expecting a visit from Santa while stranded on a half-dead space station, but it’s easier to just go along with it at this point.

When he wakes up the next morning, he realizes why. 

As a rule, there aren’t a lot of comforts on the go-sci ring. Unlike the other stations, it’s primary function was solely focused on keeping the rest of the Ark operational, and though it does have some rooms, it’s not a coincidence that the people who largely worked in go-sci lived in alpha. It simply wasn’t intended for large-scale habitation, and the amenities prove it.

Still, they’d scavenged for as much furniture as they could, turning one of the now obsolete monitoring rooms into a communal living space. It was here that they would sometimes watch old films from the archives together, and it was here that someone — _Murphy,_ probably — had decorated.

It isn’t anything major, but they don’t have the resources for major. He’d found as many space blankets as he could, making a fort that spans most of the room. The cushions from the old couches and stray pillows he’d found line the floor, and the opening of the fort faces their telescreen.

With what Bellamy can only assume was Raven’s help, he’d even managed to get the line of lights running along the edge of the room to flash intermittently red and green.

It’s nice, Bellamy decides with a smile. 

When everyone has woken up and made it to the living room, they fall into a blob of bodies — which Roan quickly reminds everyone _could_ be an orgy if they were brave enough — and they begin a day-long movie marathon.

It’s different, watching people experience Christmas in the time before the bombs. There’s always a big city exec falling in love with a small town hottie, and along the way they encounter snow and ice skating and Christmas trees. 

Watching them eat full Christmas dinners and hot chocolate afterward is especially hard, the group barely managing to gulp down their breakfast and lunch portions of algae.

Still, it’s nice to see a different side of life — a version of reality that none of them have ever truly known.

But the people in the films are at peace, the only problems they face being social ones. And here, in space, they are at peace, too. There are no wars to fight. The closest anyone gets to drawing weapons is when Murphy farts in the blanket fort.

It’s not the same as a Christmas in New York City, but it’s every bit as loving and easy.

Bellamy has his head on Raven’s shoulder, and Clarke lies across both his and Roan’s laps in a way that hardly seems comfortable. His hand goes automatically to her hair, playing absentmindedly with the golden strands while the film series continues. Monty and Harper are cuddling together in the corner, and Murphy and Emori have been too busy making out to focus on anything since the most recent movie started twenty minutes before.

When late afternoon rolls around, they decide to stop the films for a while, taking a break to sit and chat. Emori and Roan, in particular, seem to have a lot of Christmas-based questions, several of which the others don’t even know the answers to.

“What’s eggnog?”

“Are reindeer real and if so how do they fly? Is it a radiation thing?”

“What _exactly_ is claymation and why does it look so terrifying?”

Attempted answers are thrown around the room, but it only seems to make the grounders more confused.

“Well, Murphy actually taught me about my favorite holiday tradition,” Roan says suddenly. The group lets out a collective groan, knowing this can be going nowhere good.

“I hesitate to even ask,” Bellamy says, “but I know you’ll just tell us anyway, so let’s hear it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Roan rolls his eyes. “It’s just mistletoe.”

Someone lets out an audible sigh of relief.

Roan continues. “Honestly, when I first heard about a plant that makes people kiss, I assumed it was like a _jokenblum.”_

Emori’s head pops up. “Actually, that would make sense. Unlike _goblataim, jokenblum_ is a real thing.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, _goblat—_ ugh, never mind. The point is, I thought mistletoe was just _jokenblum_ with a dumb old name.”

Of course, it’s Murphy who does the thing that nobody should do. “What’s _jokenblum?”_ he asks.

“Your plant is all about symbolism, right? You see some mistletoe and custom dictates that you kiss, so you do. But if you eat anything prepared with _jokenblum,_ you have no choice but to kiss… and then fuck, too.”

“Fuck or die?!” Murphy asks, something almost akin to excitement in his eyes. “Really?”

Emori nods. “Yeah, that one’s real. Would probably put us all in an orgy mood really quick.”

“So you can see why I was a bit disappointed to learn about the completely non-existent effects of mistletoe.”

“It’s poisonous,” Bellamy offers. “If you ingest enough of it. So not completely without side effects.”

Roan looks pleased by this news, but Clarke is quick to cut in. “You realize we don’t have any mistletoe, right? No poisons, no fuck or die, just algae.”

Murphy makes a disgusted face. “Ew, don’t remind me.”

Monty looks ready to try to defend himself and the algae, but Roan’s eyes light up in a concerning way before Monty can even open his mouth.

“I have the best idea.”

Bellamy thinks it safe to bet that that probably isn’t true.

He stands up, walking out of the room entirely before coming back with a spare screw from Raven’s collection of odds and ends.

“This is mistletoe,” he says, his voice commanding in the small space.

Without even glancing his way, Raven throws out a totally blasé, “That’s a screw, try again.”

“Well as killjoy _Clarke_ has pointed out, we don’t have real plants in space, so this is mistletoe.” 

“Get it?” Murphy asks from his spot on the ground. “Because it makes people screw.”

Harper gives him a look. “It makes people— never mind, it’s not worth it.”

“So this is mistletoe,” Roan continues, talking over the noise coming from the others. “And I am the spirit of mistletoe, here to make the most unfortunate matches among us.”

“No thanks,” Monty says easily.

“Oh come on, it’s just a game. All you have to do is kiss someone when I trap you under the mistletoe with them. You don’t even have to slip them tongue if you don’t want to.”

This, Bellamy is sure, is a big concession on Roan’s part.

“Why do you get to be the spirit of mistletoe?” Raven asks seriously, like that is the only weird part about the idea.

“Because the rest of you are boring?”

At the sight of seven displeased faces staring back at him, he backtracks on that response.

 _“Fine,”_ he says with a huff. “We’ll secretly swap out who has the mistletoe. If we’re discreet enough, you’ll never know who has it at any given point, which’ll make it harder to avoid getting caught under it.”

“So, MistleTag,” Murphy offers.

“I don’t know what that means, but sure. MistleTag.”

Bellamy groans, and Clarke leans in close to whisper in his ear, too quietly for the others to hear. “Don’t you just love Christmas?” She smiles at him, the ridiculousness of their friends a constant in-joke between them.

“Tis the season, I guess.”

***

MistleTag, as a concept, probably isn’t a disaster. 

Then again, they have exactly eight people that can be paired up, and four of them have already split off into their own romantic relationships. This game is, in that sense, just a slightly more athletic version of spin the bottle. Juvenile and probably not as exciting as anyone makes it out to be, but for some reason Roan _really wants_ people to kiss. Since they have to deal with five years in space with the guy, they’ve had to start learning where to pick their battles.

Plus, Murphy loves the chaos.

Nobody is really sure what they should do once they’re committed to playing the game. Are they supposed to run and hide, or go back to their films until someone uses the mistletoe, or splinter off into their own groups for their evening routines?

Eventually, Roan tells them to stop standing around with doe-eyed looks on their faces and actually do something, so they sort of wander off back to the communal space.

Bellamy notices, out of the corner of his eye, that Roan quickly passes the screw to Clarke behind her back. When he raises his brow at her in question, she just smiles.

It’s smart, as far as chaos goes. Clarke and Bellamy are both battling it out for least fun person on the ring. 

It’s a side effect of not knowing what to do now that there are no imminent threats to focus on. The fun had been sapped from them both long ago, and it’s a strangely lengthy process to slip into that roll again.

But all of that just means that no one will expect her to start them all off.

As they’re shifting about, partially deconstructing their blanket fort to find a more comfortable way to spend the evening after so many hours, Clarke makes her move.

In a betrayal that could easily rattle those of her days on the ground, the first person to get trapped under the screw is, ironically, Roan.

When he looks up at it, hovering above his head in her pale hand, he smirks at her. He probably hadn’t expected this turn of events when he’d handed it off to her in secret, but Roan’s always been largely unflappable. He simply doesn’t care enough about most of what’s happening around him to be bothered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The voice isn’t Roan’s.

“What did you expect?” Clarke asks with a smile. “Ask and you shall receive.”

Murphy looks between the screw and Roan with displeasure.

“It couldn’t have at least been Emori? Or if that’s too boring, Raven? Or Bellamy? Seriously?”

Clarke raises her eyebrows, mainly at the inclusion of Bellamy’s name. Apparently mutually trying to hang each other back in the day didn’t inhibit romance for Murphy. Maybe that’s part of his appeal even.

“Worth considering for the future,” Clarke says. “But right now your big handsome Christmas date is waiting for his kiss.”

Roan puckers his lips.

“This one’s for Christmas,” Murphy says seriously.

Raven and Emori, standing next to each other and watching with rapt attention, start teasingly chanting “kiss him! kiss him! kiss him!”

Roan tugs on Murphy’s arm. “C’mere, pipsqueek.” 

He plants a kiss on Murphy’s mouth, and though it’s completely chaste, he also makes the loudest possible sound effects for everyone’s enjoyment.

Murphy pulls back before too long. He wipes his shirt over his mouth, but then jokes that it wasn’t the worst he’s ever had. Roan winks.

The rest of the evening goes similarly. Harper kisses Clarke, which Murphy is far too pleased about, and Raven kisses Monty. Emori is somehow able to evade the screw no matter who is holding it, and the event does eventually lead to people running around the main hallway of the ring, trying to avoid both whoever has the screw and other people to get caught under it with. They limit which rooms people can hide in simply so the game won’t be spread too thin, as there simply aren’t enough of them to use the whole space.

Despite all the heaviness that has weighed on his soul, chasing each other around in circles with only the threat of a little spare screw somehow allows Bellamy to laugh more than he can remember laughing in a long time. 

Maybe more than he’s laughed since before his mother’s death. 

Though they’ve spent three months in the sky forced into a state of perpetual peace, it’s the first time that he’s actually allowed himself to shed his worries and be unapologetically unburdened.

Harper finally catches Raven and Emori under the screw, and she calls the others to witness the kiss, proud to be the only person who has managed to get Emori. The rest of them have been under it at least two or three times by now. Bellamy himself has already kissed both Roan (who was more enthusiastic with his tongue after breaking the ice with Murphy) and Raven (who seemed about as interested in kissing him as he was in kissing her, but at least it was something familiar). He almost got caught with Monty, but Monty had jumped onto a counter at the last second to escape the mistletoe.

They all cheer as Emori dramatically acquiesces to the kiss, admitting defeat after so long. 

“Is that the end, then?” Monty asks. “If we managed to get everyone? With Emori as the winner and Roan as the loser?”

Roan, by this point, has kissed everyone in the game except Emori. Some people more than once. At no point was he ever trying to avoid the screw, only running around in the first place to make things more interesting. If the goal was to not get tagged, he’d failed spectacularly.

“One more round,” Harper says, fresh off the victory of finding Emori. “Knock out edition. If you get caught under it, you kiss and then you’re done.”

“Doesn’t that incentivize one person to keep the mistletoe for the whole game and never hand it off?” Raven asks.

Roan gives a dramatic flourish. “As the winner of the previous game—“ he holds his hands up to stop seven people from trying to correct him, “I’m willing to serve as the Spirit of Mistletoe for the final round. All you have to do is avoid me until you’re the last person standing.”

The idea sounds easy enough to the rest of the group. With Roan out of the game, it means that three pairs will kiss, with one final, unkissed winner at the end.

Which is why it goes wrong so quickly. 

Raven and Murphy are caught first, having to kiss beside a heating duct that Roan had managed to trap them behind. Though they’re both deeply, annoyingly competitive people, they eventually take the loss and bow out gracefully after a kiss.

The trouble comes when Roan somehow has the exact right timing to get Emori, Harper, and Monty under the mistletoe at the same time.

Emori looks between the couple with a laugh. “Hey, if you’re ever looking for a third.”

Monty blushes a deep red at the words, but Harper just leans in for a quick kiss to Emori’s lips. With a chuckle, she says, “We’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hey!” Murphy says from the side.

“Kidding, John. Just kidding.” Then as Emori leans in to kiss Monty as well, she quietly adds, “Unless we break up. Then I’m serious.”

“I can still hear you.”

Attention is entirely diverted to that for a moment, before Clarke asks, “Does that mean we win?”

Roan looks at the group, doing a quick count as if they aren’t the same group of eight day in and day out. When he comes to the same conclusion that Clarke has — namely that only she and Bellamy are left — he starts thinking.

“New plan.”

Before either of them can even protest, Roan has hauled them both in by their upper arms, pausing only to open the nearest bedroom door — unfortunately, Roan’s own — and push them through.

As they turn back to look at him in confusion, the screw flies through the air at them, almost an afterthought.

Then, the door closes.

“Hey, let us out!” Clarke says. “We won the game. It’s not our fault you caught three at once.”

“If there’s still a pair left, the game’s not over, Clarke. Kiss Bellamy and get on with it.”

She looks up at him, giving a little shrug. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

She takes a step towards him, but gives him an affronted look when he immediately takes a step back.

“Come on, Bellamy, it’s just a kiss. It’s all we’ve been doing for the last hour.”

“No,” he says quickly, voice strained as she tries to step towards him again. He mirrors it, never letting her get too close.

“No? What do you mean _no?_ Am I really a worse prospect than Roan?”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he says quietly, hoping they can’t hear them from the other side of the door.

Clarke’s face drops completely, as though a part of her that had hoped he was joking has just realized the truth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t let me force you into something you don’t want.” Her voice is bitter, and he tries not to let it sting.

“It’s not about—“

“No, it’s fine. This game was silly anyhow.”

She steps forward, and this time his feet don’t move. He keeps his eyes trained on her warily, but she only moves in to brush a light kiss against his cheek. Then, backing up, she pats her palm against the door once. “Alright, we kissed.”

“I don’t believe you,” Murphy says loudly from the other side.

“Well that’s too bad. Roan didn’t have to lock us away, but he did. Now you have to take me at my word.”

Raven opens the door. “Best kiss ever?”

Clarke smiles tightly, though Bellamy isn’t sure that anyone else can see through it like he can. “Game changer. Really rocked my world. Better than our kiss by a mile, Reyes.”

Raven looks offended for a second, but everyone else just laughs.

Bellamy doesn’t move, still stupefied by how sideways everything has gone in the last few minutes. He must look off-kilter, but the others seem to chalk that up to a good kiss instead of whatever this is.

Finally, everyone disperses for the night, ready to be back in their own beds. Bellamy tries to speak with Clarke, wanting to clear the air, but she disappears before he gets the chance.

Eyes wide, he stares down the hallway that leads to her compartment.

“Go get her,” Monty says with a smile. He and Harper are the only two left loitering with him in the hallway. When Bellamy gives him a confused look, Harper gently pushes at his shoulder, nudging him in the right direction.

“You know you want to go after her,” she says easily. “So do it. Blame it on the Christmas magic if you have to. We all know the truth.”

“The truth?”

“That you love Clarke.”

“What? No, I don’t—”

“You don’t have to keep hiding it, Bellamy.” Harper smiles at him. “You’ve both been through so much, and now there’s nothing but time. It’s okay to let yourself be happy. You care about each other. Now act on it.”

“I’m nervous,” he says numbly, eyes trained on the silvery grey of the walls so he doesn’t have to look at either of them head on. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Monty smile, pulling Harper closer to him. “I guess that means it’s important then.” There’s a pause before he adds more somberly, “You’re afraid to let yourself have something good. Maybe she is too. But we only get so much time in the universe; if you want to spend yours with her, you should say it.”

He nods unthinkingly, mind so overloaded with all of this that he struggles to process everything. He thinks of three months ago and the day that he thought he would never see her again. He thinks of how completely desperate he’d been to tell her how he felt before she ran off into danger.

In an alternate world, he would’ve never had the chance to say these things to her. He wants to now, if only because he _can_. The universe may not give him a third chance. 

“You’re right.”

Harper gives his shoulder another gentle shove. “So stop spending your evening with us and go talk to her.”

He nods again, more consciously this time. His feet start moving him in the direction of her room.

“Thanks,” he throws over his shoulder at them, a knot in his stomach.

“Of course. And Bellamy?” Harper says. He raises his eyebrow at her, slowing his steps to focus back on her. “Merry Christmas.”

He smiles at the pair. Harper is tucked comfortably under Monty’s arm, and they both look so content. Even in the cold vacuum of space, they have what they need in this group, and in each other.

“Merry Christmas.”

“This is the reason it all started, you know,” Monty says casually. At Bellamy’s confused look, he continues. “Christmas, I mean. The rosemary mistletoe.”

“Wasn’t Jasper just bored?”

“Well, yeah. But he was sure that if he just contrived a reason for you and Clarke to kiss, then everything would work itself out.”

“Back then? At the dropship? We hated each other then!”

Monty smiles knowingly. “Jasper saw it back then. Most of us thought you’d be a good pair even in those days, but Jasper was something else. He was completely convinced.”

Bellamy wants to say _and now he hates us,_ but from the slightly pained look in Monty’s eyes and the way Harper watches him carefully, he’s sure they already know. It’s been a long road for Jasper, and while they might not ever fully deserve his forgiveness for all that has happened, things had been looking up before Praimfaya. There’s still hope for a reconciliation one day.

“I guess I should be glad someone was convinced,” he says instead. “Even if he did a terrible job of getting us under the mistletoe together.”

“Yeah, well… that’s just Jasper,” Monty laughs, part of him lost in the past. The dropship days were so incredibly difficult and scary, but they were also infinitely simpler, too.

Bellamy turns to the nearest window, looking down onto earth. “Merry Christmas, Jasper.”

The others offer their own season’s greetings down to their friend in the bunker, and then Bellamy squeezes them both in a quick hug before gracing them with a final smile. When he leaves, he feels lighter, the knot slightly more bearable.

***

He knocks on Clarke’s door, but when he gets no response, he chances things by opening it anyway.

“Clarke?”

“Go away, Bellamy. I’m sleeping.”

“Sure sounds like it,” he says with a low chuckle.

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Can I talk then?”

He catches her rolling her eyes, but she doesn’t make any attempt to stop him from speaking.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Oh, you’re sorry?” She asks, anger in her voice as she sits up in bed. “What, for implying that I’m somehow too repulsive to kiss in a _game?_ Fuck, Bellamy, what a way to end the night.”

“It wasn’t like that!”

“Wasn’t like what? You weren’t _disgusted—”_

“Of course I wasn’t disgusted, Clarke! Why the fuck would you think—”

“Why would I think that? With all those incredibly subtle hints that you couldn’t be less interested? I’m not stupid—”

“I just didn’t want it to be like that!” He explodes over her.

It goes silent in the room, the absence of sound stark now that they’re not trying to talk over each other.

She stands up from her bed, moving towards him until they’re toe to toe. He has to drop his chin just to see her, her face so close.

“Didn’t want it to be like what?” She asks, voice soft.

“I didn’t want it to be a game. Or just because of a game.”

He watches the way her throat moves as she swallows heavily.

“It’s not a game to me,” she whispers.

His skin tingles at the words, but he has to be sure. “Really? Even when our friends were pressing their ears to the other side of the door after locking us in together?”

She breaks eye contact, her gaze dropping lower on his face.

“No one is outside now.” Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.

Without any further thought, he grabs her elbow, tugging her in closer. His other hand comes to rest on the nape of her neck as he pulls her in for a kiss.

As soon as he feels the press of her lips to his, he crowds against her, walking forward until her back is against the wall. With her trapped against his body, he uses his height advantage to take control of the kiss, his every action desperate and hungry. Her hands snake up his back, nails digging in when he does something she particularly enjoys.

He bites her bottom lip before soothing it with his own tongue. She lets out a moan when he nips at her again.

Pulling back to breathe, she says, “This isn’t a game to me.”

“I want this,” he reassures quickly. “Wanted this for so long. Just you, Clarke.” He peppers kisses across the planes of her face, and her head falls back to the wall. She keeps her eyes closed, a happy smile on her lips as he kisses across her cheek and down her throat, sucking bruises into her skin along the way.

Eventually she pulls him back to her mouth, kissing him soundly. Against his lips, she whispers, “You taste like earth.”

They don’t keep their clothes on for much longer.

***

Later, as they’re lying in her bed, her head on his chest and his hand running through her hair, he says, “You know this was all a set up?”

“Roan? Really? I guess I can see it — he’s always been a little too nosy.”

“No, not Roan.” He pauses for a second, thinking. “Although that would actually make sense, honestly. I meant the origins of Christmas. Apparently Jasper was trying to set us up. Only he ended up getting me with Harper and you with him by mistake.”

She laughs. “Classic Jasper. At least Roan tried to see it through… sort of.”

“Worked okay in the end, I think.”

She kisses his chest lightly. “Worked out great. We would’ve circled each other endlessly otherwise.”

“You think so?”

She just chuckles into his skin, which he takes as an affirmative response. And, in all fairness, it’s not like she’s wrong. Even with their conversation in Becca’s lab, they’ve still spent the last three months in a sort of suspended animation, too afraid to take a step either forward or back.

He keeps running his fingers through her hair before switching to moving the tips up and down her naked back. When he looks down at her several minutes later, her eyes are closed but she’s smiling.

“What are you thinking about?” He whispers.

“I’m imagining a real earth Christmas.”

“What do you see?”

Her smile widens. “A log cabin with a fire burning in the hearth. Snow outside. Blankets on a bed, and tea steeping.”

“No algae?” He jokes.

“Definitely not.”

“Anything else?”

“The rest is the same,” she says, the pads of her fingers running across his chest. “You and me — naked in the bed together, but we’re not cold.”

She shivers against him, and though he’s almost certain it’s from the feeling of nails skating lightly up her back, he pulls the blanket up around her anyway.

“I think we could make that happen. Snow weather-dependent, of course.”

“Really?” She asks, her voice soft with sleep. Like the Christmas she sees has pulled her halfway into the dream.

“Yeah. I imagine we’ll have four or so Christmases on the ring before then, but it’s something to aim for.”

“It’s nice to have something peaceful to hope for,” she murmurs.

He kisses the top of her head. “We can have as many dreams as we want.”

“It’s never the same when we’re on the ground for real.”

“Maybe it’ll be different next time.”

She takes his free hand in hers, pulling it to her lips to kiss.

“I hope.”

“Merry Christmas, Clarke.”

With the last of her waking energy, she says, “Merry Christmas, Bell. Love you.” 

Then she’s asleep.

He thinks of her words all night.

In the morning, he makes sure to say them to her in return.

***

_Through the years we all will be together_ _  
_ _If the fates allow_  
_Hang a shining star upon the highest bough_ _  
_ And have yourself a merry little Christmas now

**Author's Note:**

> It wasn't specifically stated in the story, but Echo took Roan's place in the conclave and thus wasn't on the Ring. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! Have a very happy and safe holiday season!


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